


new sounds in my mind

by obsessivelymoody



Series: dan & pip [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelymoody/pseuds/obsessivelymoody
Summary: Exhaustion weighs heavy on Dan, and she wishes she could just sleep through the night for once, not have to face the fog and hazy numbness that permeate her thoughts and feelings, hissing persuasive lies in her ears.





	new sounds in my mind

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for phandomficfests femslash february fest! 
> 
> Massive thanks to [schiefergrau](http://schiefergrau.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this <3

Comfort is the first feeling Dan registers when she wakes up. 

She’s warm, and there’s an arm wrapped around her waist, one that she recognizes first by the weight, and then by the pattern of freckles as she glances down at it. Her head and body haven’t quite synced up yet, so she curls herself further into Pip, relishing in the moment of relief before the dread sets in. 

The dread that immediately washes over her when she briefly looks over at the glaring red numbers on the alarm clock balanced on the bedside table. 4:52 am. 

If she were well enough, she would cry. Instead, she's just numb. 

Numb with the fact that this is the fourth time this week she's woken up in the middle of the night, with no sign of sleep to quickly mute the cruel thoughts that swirl through her mind. And not to mention the glaring notion that she's going to be awake for hours before primal exhaustion takes over. 

Numb with the fact that she feels numb, that she can't process her emotions like she can when she's well. That she's just a nuisance, a waste of time and space for Pip and useless to an employer who she knows will give her a disappointed _tsk_ over the phone when she calls in for the second day in a row. 

Pip stirs around her, clicking her tongue lightly in her sleep before rolling away. 

The immediate lack of warmth and weight against her side only makes Dan feel worse, but she doesn't want to wake Pip. 

Instead, she sits up slowly, carefully pulling back the duvet and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. 

It creaks as her bare feet make contact with the carpet. Panicked, she looks back at Pip, who is still blissfully asleep. 

Dan huffs out a quiet sigh of relief and tiptoes out of the bedroom and into Pip’s tiny lounge. 

Pip's green York hoodie is resting across the arm of the faded purple loveseat, and Dan grabs it, pulling it over her head before curling up on the sofa. 

She contemplates walking across the hall into her own flat but decides against it when something small and soft brushes against her legs. 

She reaches down to pick up the black Siamese, placing him in her lap. 

“Did I wake you, Spike?” she whispers to the cat, lightly stroking along his back. “I'm sorry.” 

Spike doesn't reply, but Dan isn't looking for one anyway. It feels good to speak, to say those two words to a cat that is only contentedly sitting with her because she knows where he likes best to be pet. Those two words that she thinks she might be saying more to herself, attesting to her continual failure to be functional. 

But she also might be saying them to Pip, where Pip can’t hear her and scold her for them. Pip, who cares, and Dan knows that, but can't bring herself to accept that fact right now. 

Exhaustion weighs heavy on Dan, and she wishes she could just sleep through the night for once, not have to face the fog and hazy numbness that permeate her thoughts and feelings, hissing persuasive lies in her ears.

By now she's used to it. Accepting of the haze, even. She thinks a few days ago she might have welcomed it and the accompanying thoughts with open arms and nothing but true belief in them, but now she refuses to. It's a weak refusal, but she tries not to let the thoughts dig too deep. 

Maybe it's getting better, she thinks. Bitterness immediately follows, laced with doubt. 

But there's rationality in her brain, and Dan knows it. It's what keeps her afloat during the hours of the day where it's normal for her to be awake. But the dreaded fog that wakes her up, disintegrates her chance of restful sleep, makes it very hard for rationality to take the reins. 

A part of her wants to yell at the noise in her head, to scream until the static haze goes away, but instead Dan settles on pulling up the hood on Pip's hoodie and closing her eyes. She leans the side of her face into the hood, breathing in the scent of Pip's shampoo and laundry detergent. 

It's grounding and makes her think of their first proper interaction, when Dan was ready to rip her a new one over her lack of responsibility as a cat owner, but stopped dead in her tracks when Pip answered the door. 

Her face was still puffy from sleep, and there were pillow creases in her left cheek. Choppy black fringe was falling into her eyes, and Dan's stomach fluttered when she noticed Pip’s eyes were this lovely tri-coloured blue. She thinks she could have stared into them for hours, but thankfully she managed to pull her gaze away, eyes dragging down her body over the green York hoodie before finally resting on the ugliest pair of bright yellow emoji pyjama bottoms she'd ever seen. 

She was stumped. The little speech she had practised before walking across the hall to Pip's flat was gone. So gone that she blurted out “nice pants”, immediately feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment. 

Pip had looked confused, but she thanked her, and after asking what she wanted Dan had replied with much less fury than intended. 

She knew she was gone for her in that moment, and if she were better she would laugh at the ridiculousness of that moment. But she's not, so she holds onto the image of Pip, cozy and sleepy in her bright green hoodie. In the back of her mind she knows it's probably not healthy to ground herself in another person, but right now she doesn't care because it helps, and she doesn't know what else to do. 

Dan doesn't know how much time passes between her eyes closing and Spike jumping off her lap, and then the soft patter of socked feet on hardwood. 

“Dani?” Pip's voice is barely a whisper. Dan grunts. 

“Hey,” The sofa dips beside her. “Early start, yeah?” 

She wishes she had the energy to reply properly, but all that comes out is another grunt. Pip deserves a proper reply in all this mess. All of Dan's mess. 

“Okay,” She says. “I reckon we should have some toast.”

Dan doesn't deserve her. She doesn't and it hits her even harder when she finally lifts her head and looks over at Pip. Her eyes, rimmed with dark circles, are still puffy from sleep behind her glasses. She looks exhausted and Dan feels guilty. 

The guilt twists in her like someone's stuck a knife in her chest when Pip flashes her a smile before getting up and walking to the kitchen. 

She feels guilty and useless and terrible, and the noise in her head grows louder, more demanding as she listens to Pip bump around in the kitchen. 

Dan shuts her eyes, weakly willing the thoughts away. She doesn't know how long she lay there like that before she feels a hand on her shoulder. 

When Dan opens her eyes Pip is in front of her, perched on the edge of the coffee table with a glass of water in her hands. 

Questions of her own worth swirl around in her head. She pushes them down when Pip holds the water out to her. 

Dan can see through the pleasant expression on her face, can see the worry under it. She hates it. She hates that she knows it, and hates that Pip feels the need to look at her like that. She hates that her stupid brain is hurting both of them. 

So she sits up in spite of the look, taking the water from Pip. As she sips it, the toaster pops behind them, and Pip goes back to the kitchen. 

Maybe she is getting better. Maybe she is on an up. She doesn't think she would have even sat up for Pip two days ago. 

Dan sets the water on the table and twists to see Pip’s back to her in the kitchen, hunched over the counter. 

She could stare at her like that forever, half hanging onto the back of the sofa, watching the way her pyjama shorts rise up her bum when she moves and how her dark hair slips from the loose plait she put it into before bed. 

But she can't keep quiet forever, can't keep watching forever. 

When Pip starts to turn around panic builds in Dan's chest, but she takes it and relishes it, because she's feeling and she thinks she's ready to talk. 

“I feel cloudy,” she blurts when Pip's fully turned around, a plate of toast in each hand. 

Dan hates the worry that passes over her face again. She's fucked it all up, and she can tell when Pip purses her lips as she walks around the sofa and places the plates on the table. 

“I didn't, um...” Dan releases a breath, starting again, “Sorry, I just, uh, don't feel good. Because of—you know…” 

“It's okay,” Pip says as she settles back onto the sofa beside her. “It's good to, um, share what you're feeling.” 

She's uncomfortable. Her tone is unsure, delicate like she's afraid the wrong thing will make Dan blow up, as if she's a ticking time bomb, almost out of time. 

She feels terrible. She knows everything Pip has gone through, knows that she struggles with opening up. And she's just put her through that, through something she hates. The guilt twists deeper, making her stomach turn. 

“I—I didn't mean to make you feel bad,” Dan says. “I know this is hard for you. Talking about feelings and stuff. It's fine if you don't want to.” 

She looks away, unable to bring herself to look at Pip's expression. It's to no use, though, as Pip tugs on the sleeve of the hoodie, making Dan turn back to face her. 

Pip offers her a small smile. “I do want to talk about it. You're right, it's hard, we both know why it's hard for me, but you're hurting, and I love you. I want you to be able to feel better.” 

She wishes she could cry. The pressing numbness is preventing her from properly feeling the way she wants to, but she knows that she can't be sure what she did to deserve Pip and her love. 

“I can't really feel,” she whispers. “I want to, but I can't. And all I can do is think, but my thoughts aren't very nice.” 

Pip reaches a hand out to her, and Dan grabs it, lacing their fingers together. 

“I don't think I can take it anymore,” she continues, watching Pip nod. 

The haze and lack of feeling has been happening for years. She's always said she can deal with it, that it's fine, only a minor setback for her on the days it comes. It's what she's said to Pip on bad days in the past. That she's fine, she's in pain and without desire or motivation, but she'll be okay. And she can deal with it. 

But now she's not so sure she can. 

“It's hard, to pull myself out of this,” Dan says, breathing out shakily. “But I know I need to. Because this is shit. And it's not fair to you. Or anyone, really.” 

“Okay,” Pip says. “Okay. I'm here for you, yeah? Always, I hope you still know that.”

She nods. It's something she says whenever Dan has bad days. 

“And we can do this together, if you want. I don't want to hold you back, or push you forward when you aren't ready.” 

Pip rubs her thumb against the back of her hand. “This is for you, and I'm here to support you. Like you did for me and all the crap I dealt with. Because that's what we do, yeah?” 

It's too nice. It's far too nice for her, but she knows Pip is right. 

And Dan knows what she has to do next. This is the first step of many, and she thinks she might trip on a few, and some might be agonizing to take, but she needs to take them. 

“I'm going to ring my GP,” she says. “And book an appointment. Could you be there with me? When I call?” 

“Of course. I'll be there every step of the way.” 

Dan squeezes her hand. “Thank you. I love you.”

Pip smiles warmly, resting her other hand on Dan's knee. “I love you too. So… d'you think you can eat? Could you try to?” 

No. No, maybe she isn't getting better because she shakes her head and the guilt washes over her again. 

“Okay. That's okay.” Pip’s voice is too kind and Dan curls one leg up against her chest, fighting a new wave of numbness. 

“Did you—” It comes out sounding strangled and pained, like someone is pulling at her vocal cords. She tries again, because Pip's stopped mid-bite, looking at her. It's hard but Dan knows that saying something, something meaningless, something normal right now will help. 

“Did you know you left all the cupboard doors open?” 

Pip smiles that warm smile again, and it reaches her eyes, the specks of yellow standing out among the blue. 

“Yeah babe, I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from Green Light by Lorde. 
> 
> you can like/reblog this on [tumblr](https://obsessivelymoody.tumblr.com/post/183150869792/new-sounds-in-my-mind-rating-g-word-count-22k) if you want.


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